The Iron Maiden
by racerxcess
Summary: History is often but a small ripple away from total rearranging. What if, at the time she needed it most, Catherine of Aragon makes a new and most suprisingly valuable friend? This is the story of Clara Roerden, betrothed of a duke, lady to the Queen.
1. Chapter 1

It was the start of something she resented all too bitterly, like some undeserved punishment everyone else thought of as a kindness. Not that she couldn't understand why. She, Clara Roerden, born third daughter of Sir Robert and the late Matilda, was to be married to a Duke, and one in the king's favor no less. She, who had been reminded nearly each day of her life since she was able to comprehend it, that it was her duty to marry as she was bid and thus serve her family by joining it's name powerfully to that of another, knew all too well how 'fortunate' she was.

Fortunate. Ha! She turned the word over in her mouth with a snort, not caring of the looks she received from her maids as they finished her hair. Most unladylike, she was sure, were the words that were being exchanged by the looks they sent each other. No matter, for today she would indulge in all the behaviors she knew would no longer be her luxury in the company of the stranger that was to be her husband and lord. She would gobble sweets and drink wine with abandon, laugh loudly and make crude mannish remarks, all before her corset was tightened around her ribcage and her life.

"All finished, miss", spoke Lilly, interrupting her revery, turning her around to reveal her beautiful hair, a fine curly shock of deep red, well arranged atop her head, with pearls throughout to catch the eye. A few wisps here and there escaped, drawing a glance towards her long graceful neck. Even Clara had to smile.

"Thank you, Lily, Meredith", she exclaimed, truly grateful. "It is beautiful. All that remains to be done now is jewelry. What do you think, Meredith? Emeralds?"

"I should say so, miss. They match your eyes perfectly, and they were a gift from the duke, after all."

The set from her fiance. Of course that's what she should wear. It was quite lovely actually, a fine collar of square cut emeralds with earrings to match. The only thing more becoming than the gift itself was the note that accompanied it: _**" I hear that you eyes are dead match for these stones, so naturally, these jewels made me think of you. With them, I send sincere well wishes, and anxious desire to finally behold you in person."**_

It had been well written, signed in his own hand, even. It was not as though the resentment she had stored within her was aimed toward the duke; Edmund, as he bid her call him in his writing, had been the kindest part of an arrangement that otherwise felt as cold and stiff as stone. No, he was not the blame; it was for her father that she felt the stirring nausea of betrayal, that he could trade her off, sell her, as it were, and without a single look back. With that came a knock at the door.

"Clara, are you ready, child?", she heard her Aunt Alice say, "He's waiting on you; you know how restless he gets when he's the first one ready."

Ugh! Clara resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her father's impatience, his insistence that she be flawless and fast in the same quietly drawn breath, it was infuriating. But, she digressed: such was the world when you felt you ruled it, and that was the feeling of most men; hence her hesitance to marry and gain a new master. She had it on good authority that he had been a different man when her mother was still alive, and that love of her had tendered him. However, not being able to remember him or associate tenderness with the man he was now did little for her faith in the temperance of men. Really, save for her dear uncle, Nathan, who was also gone now, she could not truly say she had known tenderness in a man.

"The door is open, my lady, please come in. I am almost done."

" That is no good, Clara. You know how he is; his hands are itching for his reins at this very moment!" Alice chided, nervously glancing toward the window. This would never do. Her brother in law was by no means what one would consider a patient man. He would bring the roof down on the poor girls' head had he any inkling that she was still not done dressing. Somewhere in the midst of these thoughts, she took a sideways glance at her niece in her grand dress of bold green with gems in the bodice; before God! What a likeness she was to Tilly! She'd have been so proud. Alice had always envied Matilda her red hair, even if Tilly had insisted that her deep brunette was much prettier. Her sister had been a stunningly attractive woman, and now, with nearly the same proud stance and deeply striking features, so was Clara. Taking her niece's lovely appearance into account, the crease in Alice's brow softened considerably, taking the hardness out of her eyes and allowing room for a small smile.

"Well, at least it is for a purpose you are so long in dressing," she reasoned, her smile becoming broader. " He won't be so angry when he sees what a beautiful daughter he's taking to the palace with him."

"Thank you, my lady, I do hope he'll be pleased", Clara replied honestly, glowing under the praise of the woman she thought of as a mother. " Do you truly think I'll be forgiven when he sees me? I have been quite long in preparing."

"Of course, child," Alice reassured her, brushing her worries to the wind with a wave of her hand. " You know, your mother was the same way when it came to dressing for balls and reveries. Nothing was ever right until everything was just so. Oh, your father pretended he was annoyed, but when she would finally descend from the stairs, you couldn't tell him his wife wasn't the fairest creature ever born! Ha! He loved her more than I think he could possibly explain."

"Really?", Clara said, not quite believing that the man her aunt described would be the same man waiting in front of the manor for them.

"I know it's hard to believe, but love has strange affects on a man," Alice explained. She could understand that it was hard for Clara to fathom that the cold, cumbersome man she now knew as her father had once been a young man in love to the point of distraction. But then, how many men could she herself say that for? So many of the stiff, forthright, nobles she knew had once been young men thoroughly devoted to one wife or sweetheart or another, but with the passage and cruel uncertainty of time, she had seen the sun set on them as well. Yes, love had a strange affect on a man, one that could only be equaled and reversed by the loss of it.

"I've no doubt you will soon witness the truth of that", Alice hinted, a glimmer of teasing dancing in her mossy green eyes. They were a family trait, those bright green eyes, as she had told Clara many times, passed on from her mother's antecedents, who in whispered talk were of strong irish stock. Her sister, with those same eyes, had entranced Sir Robert Roerden of Surrey, and now her niece, she was sure, would entice Sir Edmund Riley, the next Duke of Sussex with a hypnotic gaze of her own.

" We shall see, my lady", Clara answered half-heartedly. She didn't dare get into her misgivings on that subject now, when they were about to pass the night in the company of King Henry and his wife Queen Katharine. No, tonight was not the night for a lecture on a woman's duty, or on how fortunate she was, or even how unavoidable this entire situation was. Tonight was a night for making impressions, for making new and important acquaintances. Played right, it would be a night for making lasting memories. With this in mind, before her aunt could respond, she took one last glance in the mirror before grabbing her cloak and striding toward the door.

"Shall we go, madam?" she invited, heading out the door as she spoke. She heard her aunt step lively behind her, giving quiet orders to her maids before closing the door behind them. Then they were down the stairs, headed toward the door where her father waited for them in a carriage.

"You be sure and be on your toes tonight, my child", warned Alice, " the right words in the right moments, and you never know, you may end up a lady in service of the Queen herself. She just appointed two other young women coming from the french court. The right breeding and sophistication can get you in the door, although I have a feeling your kind of breeding is something she might prefer more than that of these girls."

"Perhaps, madam. I shall do my best", Clara promised. " The french court, you said? These are English girls, aren't they?"

"Yes, they are," Alice responded, " I think their father is somewhat acquainted with yours. His name is Thomas Boleyn. From what I hear, his older daughter had caught the eye of the king of france while she was there, and her younger sister was much celebrated in the french court. They sound a bit easy in their virtue for my liking, but never mind that. Let us be out the door, and see for ourselves."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Never, in all her borne days, had Clara seen so much outright opulence, such blatant and rich display. Even in the passing of Christmastide and the New Year celebrations, her father, though well off and able to afford finery, had insisted on simpler, less decadent fare. Even her aunt, a woman accustomed to wearing purple and the baubles and glitter that often trailed in the wake of nobility, had to wonder at the rich velvet swathed halls and at the tables filled with fine things she wasn't sure were meant to be eaten as much as admired. Most impressive, however, at the center of all this, were the King and Queen, Henry and Katharine themselves. The room seemed to fall away to reveal the handsome man who bore the crown, his shockingly blues eyes matching the smile that currently graced his face. Everything about him rung true of princeliness. Even his laughter, as he leaned in to share a joke with another roguishly good looking man, seemed to ring out above that of normal men. He was one of the first men about whom she could say that everything anyone had ever said was true and not in the least exaggerated.

Then there was the Queen, a woman who seemed much taller than her diminutive height, towering over every other woman and man present for sheer regal dignity. Beneath the dense, rich darkness of her hair under her beautiful crown, her eyes shone with a blue, river like clearness. Her smile was graceful, yet it seemed not to touch her eyes, which, though still arresting, seemed to hint at an unspoken sadness within her soul. Whatever the case might have been it was their turn to be presented before them. Clara felt her back straightening, her smile widening a bit, her consciousness itself reminding her that she was about to meet the royal couple of England. At her side, her fathers' rough hand gripped her firmly on the shoulder.

"Do try and remember yourself, girl", he warned her, the gruff look in his eyes matching his voice, "this is your introduction to court. Do not disappoint me."

"Of course not, sir", she responded with clipped speech "I will do my level best."

At this moment, she tried to remember all that they had discussed in the carriage on the way here; how to only come forward after the herald had introduced you, the proper amount of time to curtsey, when to rise from the ground, when and if it was ever appropriate to look the King or Queen in the eyes as they spoke to you, and all other assorted trivia of etiquette. Clara vaguely remembered her father chiding her because she hadn't seemed to be listening, at which point she began to try and pretend she hadn't been learning these things since she was about six years of age. She had been born and bred the daughter of nobles, knowing manners and decorum and languages that would make even the stiffest of nobles acknowledge her as one of the class. As much faith as she garnered from others, however, she was not so naive as to think her father had the same confidence. With two daughters already successfully married, and her betrothed, she doubted she would ever understand why not.

The herald stepped forward and said in a loud clear voice, "Sir Robert Roerden, along with his daughter Clara, and the Lady Alice Gibbons, Baroness of Kent."

Clara felt herself urged forward, toward the throne that seemed almost unapproachably high just a few seconds before. As she went to curtsey, she bowed her head respectfully. Those few moments in themselves seemed to drag beyond the hour, until a voice she had never heard before began to speak to her father.

"So this is the daughter you spoke of the last time you were here, Sir Robert," the King spoke, all the while eying Clara curiously.

"Yes, Sire, this is my youngest daughter, Clara."

"Please rise, lady Clara, allow me to see you more clearly. Your father has told me much about you."

Hesitantly, Clara's knees began to straighten, allowing her to rise to her full height. As her eyes started to take in the throne and the man addressing her from it, she found herself nervous, every part of her awake and crackling with energy. This was it, one of the moments for which she had been prepared all her life: she was about to look into the eyes of a king.

As Clara's eyes finally reached Henry's, she held back a gasp. If from twenty feet back he was dangerously handsome, from this distance he was lethally so. The eyes she had found so piercing approaching from the back of the room were as strong as lead anchors now, daring her to move from the spot she stood in. Even sitting down, she could tell he was taller than her, built for jousting matches and thorough, daily hunts, the kind of man that filled the songs of swooning country maidens not unlike herself. No wonder so many women found themselves weak willed in his presence.

"Well, Sir Robert, it seems you have won the wager," proclaimed Henry, still looking at Clara, "her hair is indeed the color of fire."

The smile never left Henry's face as the court broke into laughter at his jest; in fact, it grew. So this was Clara. Her father had said that the girl was exceedingly fair, though he hadn't paid much heed to the comment. So many men, proud fathers, came before him pleading favor, talking in passing of the exceeding beauty of their lands, possessions and daughters. Why should Sir Robert be any different? In this case, however, there had been no liberties taken with words of description. Both women who accompanied him were, in truth, passing, even exceedingly beautiful. Lady Alice, with her dark hair and laughing eyes, could still stop quite a few men in their tracks. It was Clara, though, with her mossy gaze and deep amber hair, that kept his gaze. What a fine distraction she could make. Yes, a fine distraction indeed.

"May I present you, Lady Clara, to my wife, Katharine," he continued in introduction, watching her eyes shift to his right.

" Honored to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty", Clara addressed the Queen, as she curtseyed once more. She welcomed the diversion of meeting the wife of the man whose gaze was still on her at the time. It would remind her to keep her wits about her, maybe even return some of the strength back to her ever weakening knees. Her eyes now traveled to the seat beside the king, looking into the deep and kind gaze of Queen Katharine. Up close, the sadness that Clara had observed seemed more apparent, but not as vast as the stubborn, steely strength that seemed to surround it. Indeed, royal dignity was blatant and obvious when she spoke.

" As am I, Lady Clara," she replied pleasantly, grateful for the girl's respectful air. Many a young woman had been stunned to silence and silliness by her husband, especially when it became apparent that he found them attractive. This one seemed intent on doing just the opposite.

"Sir Robert, I think you may have under reported your daughter to us," the Queen spoke warmly, " she's even more charming than I think you might have told us."

"Thank you, your grace," he replied, glancing in Clara's direction. He had to admit, he was proud of her at this moment. Fiercely so, though he'd never say so out loud. Within just a few moments, it seemed, she had convinced them that everything he'd spoken of her was true. If the King and Queen could be so pleased, surely then his future son in law would present no major challenge. He had seen his two older daughters married successfully into good families; the same,it appeared, would happen for his last child.

"Please, Sir Robert, sit close by," Henry requested, "I should like to speak more with you and your family."

"Looking forward to it, sire," he replied, and after a final bow, he made his way towards a table covered in rich velvet the color of deep french wine. He couldn't help the small smile that crept onto his lips. This was truly turning out to be a fine night.

" Well done, child," whispered Alice excitedly, "did you the see the way she looked at you? I've no doubt it may already have crossed her mind to inquire more of you!"

"I hardly said a word, Aunt Alice," Clara whispered back, "I'm not so sure there was much she had with which to be impressed. Besides, it was not the way _she_ looked at me that caught my attention."

"Never you mind that, girl," Alice warned, gripping her wrist sharply in emphasis, "I will tell you this once and only once: never you mind the looks of a man other than he who is your intended, do you hear me? I don't care if he _is_ a king."

"Of course, madam, I know this already," she assured her, knowing her Aunt only spoke this way out of concern.

"I can see how many a young woman could lose grip of their senses around him, but you must keep in mind that it is _your_ reputation on the line, not his," Alice spoke, adding a bit softer, "I won't see you become another Bessie Bluont."

That sobering reminder brought her soundly back to the earth. Who hadn't heard of Mistress Bluont, once an honorable maiden to the queen, now mother to the king's bastard, discarded by the king himself, and mocked throughout the country side? It was real life, played out for her to see and be reminded: his admiration may be flattering, tempting even, but so were most beautiful things. It made her think of Eve in the bible, at the crucial moment of truth in the middle of the garden. How many times, how many women had stood in that same spot facing certain disaster and unbearable temptation all at once? How beautiful had that disaster looked at the second they were faced with it? It was something she was determined never to know the answer to. She was never one to dive headlong with her eyes shut into anything, especially when the ending was already quite clear.

"Excuse me, Lady Gibbons," she heard the King's voice interrupting them, "I was wondering if I might interest your niece in a dance."

Before her aunt could speak, she found herself rising, taking the arm the King offered her.

"It would be my pleasure, your majesty."

Dive headlong, she would never even consider. Treading the water, however, was an entirely different matter.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hmmmmmm...the plot thickens. Are Clara's feet as firmly planted as she thinks? We shall see ;) Thank you so much for the kind reviews, please keep'em coming. Oh yeah, and except for Clara and family, I own no one. Enjoy


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Step, turn right. Step, turn left. Join hands, then walk forward, take a full spin; repeat. All this had seemed much simpler when she had been practicing home with her aunt. It nearly made her laugh to think what a troublesome child she had been, always having to be scolded to stay still or concentrate. Her sisters had picked up immediately on the steps, dreaming of the day they would get their turn at court, or of dancing this very same dance in the arms of their new husbands. Clara had never entertained such thoughts; they seemed such foolishness to her when there were trees to be climbed or berries to be picked, a sun filled hillside on which to run about. Her argument had been that she would never need such lessons in dancing, that between the languages and the reading, she would be well bred enough for a king. Little did she ever imagine she'd one day be dancing with one!

"Are you enjoying, yourself, my Lady?", he asked, his feet still perfectly in step "I'm aware this is your first time at court."

"Yes, sire, I am", she responded, "a bit overwhelmed, but none the less honored and overjoyed to be here with your majesties."

"You are more than welcome, Lady Clara", he said, his smile widening generously as though to confirm the statement, "indeed, a presence such as yours would be welcome at court. My wife has already asked to know more of you."

Clara blinked back a bit in surprise at this. Had her aunt been right, had Queen Katherine really seen something in her that moved her to want to know more? She couldn't fathom what that could possibly be, seeing as they had barely spoken more than ten words in each others direction; but she was not going to ruin this moment with excessive analyzing or questioning.

"Has she, your majesty? I am deeply flattered, though there isn't much else to know, I'm afraid."

"Ah, but I disagree, Lady Clara", he said playfully as they spun, "there is much curiosity which surrounds the charming lady who is promised to our own Sir Edmund."

Clara couldn't help but blush at this. Why was it, she wondered, that when her father talked of her pending marriage, this lilting anticipation never fluttered about inside her the way it did now?

"Is there, sire? I must admit, I'm a bit curious myself. I hear that my fiance is well loved here at court, a man you yourself favor. Is that true?"

"He is indeed, my lady. An excellent man by all accounts, including mine," he stated as they swayed, " we've hunted together, I've even jousted with him a few times. A worthy opponent, and a man after my own heart."

"So you share similar tastes, then?"

"Yes, we do," he answered, with an unmistakable gleam in his eye, "in a great many things."

Clara's eyes widened a bit before going down towards her feet, hoping to calm the ever warming flush of her cheeks. While it was true that she was a mere maid, only just turned seventeen, the meaning of his words was not lost on her, neither was the meaning of the look in his eyes as he spoke them. They continued to dance, Clara suddenly deeply interested in her feet as they came to their final spin. Only the sudden noise from the onlookers applause broke her trance. She looked up again, smiling shyly into the crowd. While she had thoroughly enjoyed her dance with the king, she couldn't help the relief she felt at its being over.

"Thank you for the dance, my lady,"the king spoke, with a parting kiss to her hand, "I do hope it won't be the last."

"Your words are too kind, sire. Of course, I would be delighted to dance with his majesty again."

Henry smiled broadly at her answer. Such a ready, yet humble reply. Yes, she would indeed be an interesting bit of intrigue; as it was, Katharine already seemed to like the girl. It would not be long before he could persuade her to take her into her service as a maid. Katharine may even beat him to the thought! With all that was happening in his court and in his country, a little diversion couldn't be more timely. These thoughts still playing through his mind, he took his leave of Clara with a firm yet warm squeeze of her hand.

"I shall hold you to that, Lady Clara", and with this, he let her go, laughing inwardly at the flush that rose to her cheeks as he did. She was so fresh, so deliciously new to all this. For his sake, he hoped she learned fast, and that he'd be the one to instruct her.

Meanwhile, Clara willed herself to look around the room, trying desperately to focus on something else, anything else besides what had just happened. Her aunt had been right; a young woman could lose all sense in the arms of such a man! At this very moment, she felt that every sense she had flowed straight to his hand had squeezed. She still felt a twinge of heat where his lips had been, and he merely grazed her hand with a lingering kiss! Ugh! She had to pull herself together. She found herself trying to spot her aunt or especially her father. Catching sight of either of those two would surely plant her firmly to the ground. Her eyes scanned the grand room, shortly thereafter spying her aunt in lively conversation with the tall, handsome man who had been sitting beside the king. A few feet to their left she saw her father, talking to a man a bit taller he was, with white hair. It was the man's hawkish eyes, however, dark and bottomless, that arrested Clara. He had just turned to look at her, and she saw her father point and gesture in her direction. They were talking about her, it seemed.

Just as she had registered that thought, a young woman approached them both. She was about her height, if a bit shorter, with black, almost ravenish hair that seemed to catch all the light the room could spare. Then the young women turned, and Clara got to see her face; a pretty, rather unique charm surrounded her, and her gaze was even more dark and piercing than the man who was speaking to her father! They must be related somehow. Suddenly, her father signaled for her to come to him. When she got to him, however, it was the other man who spoke first.

"Ah, young Mistress Roerden!", he started warmly, though the feeling seemed to stop beneath his eyes, "at last we meet. You are as ravishing as your father said you to be."

"Thank you, sir", she responded, her eyes flitting over to her father's. First, the king and queen, now this nobleman; had her father really spoken so highly and tenderly of her throughout the whole of the king's court?

"Clara, this is Sir Thomas Boleyn, a diplomat and envoy in service to the king,"

"A pleasure, your grace", she said with a curtsey.

"Oh, I assure, my dear, the pleasure is mine", he stated, taking her hand in his, " I've been curious of your identity since the moment I caught sight of you dancing so gracefully with the king. One would never guess that this is your first time at court."

"The grace was all God's and the king's, I'm sure, sir", Clara responded with a small smile, "believe me, I felt every inch the novice."

"Nonsense, girl!", her father spoke before Sir Boleyn, "you danced well and obviously charmed the king. You do not give yourself enough credit."

"Yes, Lady Clara, your father speaks truthfully", the young women beside Boleyn rejoined, "I myself could not take my eyes off the two of you. You were the best dancers on the floor, and the king seemed positively entranced by you."

"Thank you, miss", Clara said shyly, becoming increasingly put off by the way both Lord Boleyn and this girl were eying her. Both their stares possessed an unnerving coldness, stiff and sharp like the jagged ice that hung from the rooftops at home this time of year. Just as she was about to ask, the name of the young woman, Sir Thomas began to speak again, to that very purpose.

"Lady Clara, allow me to introduce my daughter, Lady Anne Boleyn."

Anne's eyes never left Clara's as she bowed slightly in politeness.

"A pleasure, Lady Clara", she said smoothly, " I'm do hope we shall become better acquainted."

" I'm sure we will, Lady Anne", Clara replied, "I'm sure we will."

*Uh-oh! Looks like Clara might have dove in headfirst anyhow, huh? And who wouldn't give a penny for the Boleyns thoughts at this very moment? Lol don't worry; all in good time :) thanx for reading and reviewing!(cough, cough, hint, hint ;)


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